I let Sean lead the way as we enter through the glass doors, the older woman at the front desk offering him a large smile as he enters.
“Sergeant,” she greets him. “Beautiful day out there.”
“Connie,” Sean answers. “This is Layla, she’s going to be with me today for my visit. Can we get her a pass?”
“Of course,” she answers, looking me over in a friendly way.
“And is there a cafeteria delivery for me?” he asks.
Connie gets me a badge, and passes Sean a brown paper bag. I listen curiously as she tells him about some of the patients as he inquires about their progress. She tells him about a new therapy program happening in the construction shop.
“How bigisthis place?” I ask as Sean hangs the badge around my neck and pulls his own out of his pocket. I eye the photo on it, and note his freshly shaven face and Marine uniform. Goddamn. I’ll be saving that image for a rainy day.
“Massive.” He chuckles. Obvious pride fills his tone. “There’s the main hospital where we are now. This has been here for the last sixty years but it was modernized when Veterans Affairs took over. In the last few years we’ve added a long-term residence, and five other buildings that house outpatient and inpatient programs for Vets. Physical and mental therapy, job training, addiction services and hobbies to keep their interest while they’re recovering. My job is to make sure these men and women are supported from the moment they return home. Some people can handle it, some people can’t.”
“Why? Because they’ve seen more than others?”
We stop in front of a set of double glass doors and Sean swipes a key fob over a console on the wall to open them. The sign above says:Long Term Care Wings A & B.
“We all live with our ghosts and demons, Layla. There’s no measure of what affects one man to the next. Only how he chooses to pay his penance for the mistakes he’s made. I’ve made mine. Being here, doing this work, is the only way I know how to make up for it.”
On the other side of the doors, the hustle and bustle of thehospital is all but gone. Soft music plays through the hallways and the lighting is natural and warm. The walls are painted a pale sage color and there’s a huge glass skylight, like a dome. It feels almost like we’re outside. There are little shops, their fronts the same red brick as the exterior of the building. There’s a café that we walk through, and as we go, various people wave or say hi and a couple salute Sean. He stops to speak to a few and I’m introduced before we move on. This part of the complex almost feels like a resort. There are patients everywhere. Some are being pushed around by staff, some sit in the café with friends or family. The smell of freshly baked goods is in the air.
“What are we doing here, Sean?” I ask as I look around in awe.
He moves closer and pulls me in, looking around with me. “When you told me your name, it was like an invisible cord tethered us together. I want you to know whatdrivesme to live my life the way I do. Why I sacrifice my safety with everything affiliated with the club. Why I justify everything my club does.” He looks around. “This place is it.” He scans his fob over another door and pushes inside. I follow him into the room. It’s almost like a little apartment. The walls are the same sage as the hallways outside. In the center is a hospital bed, and the entire east wall is windows that look out over trees and the plant-filled courtyard. There’s a small table and a sofa and a little kitchenette. In a wheelchair facing the window is a man; he’s paralyzed from the neck down—or so I assume because a brace holds his head in place.
Sean moves to the window and greets the man with a warm smile on his face. The man uses his first finger to turn the wheelchair to face him.
“Fuck, you get uglier every time I see you,” Sean says. “Fries, nice and fresh, from Connie.” He bends down and covers the man’s head with his hand, kissing the top of it. The man’s firsttwo fingers work speedily to type on a tablet. He doesn’t even look down to see what letters he’s hitting as they fly. He looks at me and gives a friendly smile while Sean reads.
“Like fuck, she’s mine,” Sean says to him with a chuckle before he makes his way around the back of the wheelchair and turns it fully to face me. The man is handsome. Around the same age as Sean with deep blue eyes and he wears dog tags around his neck too.
“Layla, I’d like you to meet my friend, Private First Class Christopher Buckman. Buck.”
For the last hour I’ve watched in awe while Sean sits with Buck and they talk, Sean using his words and Buck typing out his answers. I’ve learned Buck’s C5 vertebra was shattered in the accident and that he’s had a lot of surgeries. Twelve. I learned he had a stroke that has impeded his speech but that he can eat, drink and he has the use of three fingers on his right hand, which allows him to communicate by typing on his small tablet. They’ve brought me into the conversation a little, with Buck asking me what Sean did to convince me to hang around such “an ugly chump.”
This side of Sean has me rethinking everything I’ve been told since my childhood. It has me rethinking my own morals and values as I watch him help Buck eat his fries. I think of all the times my parents and members of our church condemned the members of the Hounds of Hell. Judging them without knowing any of them, their lives, the stories that make up their existence or the driving reasons they do the things they do.Sometimes you have to do a little bad to do a lot of good.
I remember Sean’s words as I look around. This placeisgood.It’s incredible. And so is the way Sean gives his heart and makes this place his passion. Giving back to the veterans that weren’t as lucky as him. It has me seeing the real him as he laughs and jokes with Buck. And something tells me there are very few people in this world who have ever seen this side of Sean Hunter.
“I wonder if adding more massage would help you,” I offer as Sean and Buck talk about the possibility of helping Buck’s circulation and blood flow to his legs.
“That’s something we’ve been wanting to get more of on staff here. I like where your head is at,” Sean says, looking from me to Buck.
I shrug. “I’m happy to help, if you want to set it up.” I smile at Buck and then look back at Sean. The look he’s wearing is one of pure adoration. I wait patiently while they chat for a little while longer, and then as Buck starts to look sleepy, Sean stands and heads toward a bookcase. He grabs a book off the shelf and walks back over. He looks down at Buck’s tablet.
“He says it was nice to meet you,” Sean tells me. “He wants to talk to you.”
I stand and make my way over to him. I put my hand over his. “It was an honor to meet you, Buck.”
Buck grins and types out, “Keep this fucker in line and come back and visit anytime.”
I laugh. “I’ll do my best. He isn’t the easiest to keep in line though.” I lean in. “Kinda stubborn.”
Buck smiles then looks up at Sean. “Ain’t that the fuckin’ truth,” he types. “But he’s a good man. My brother.” Our eyes lock in understanding and I nod. Buck is telling me to see more in Sean. See the other side—and the funny thing is, I already do.
Sean makes his way around the back of the chair and turns Buck toward the window again. Then he takes a seat beside him and cracks open the book. Rosalia de Castro,Selected Poems.It’s old, but it’s an English translation. I take my place on the sofabehind them and listen to Sean read the beautiful words with tears streaming down my face. He reads to Buck from the weathered old book until Buck’s eyes fall closed and then Sean stands, offering him another kiss on the top of his head, and says quietly, “See you next week, bud.”
